


Examining Power Dynamics Through Advanced Party Planning

by Yellow_Bird_On_Richland



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Britta Perry, Britta's low-key a simp, Canon Rewrite, Dirty Talk, Dominant!Annie Edison, F/F, It started out with a kiss, Laws of Robotics and Party Rights Rewrite, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Prompt: Power in a kiss, S6 Annie has major top energy, Smut, Submissive!Britta Perry, but really there were big time gay vibes in annie's threat to britta in this ep., lesbian Annie Edison, not like a total D/S type fic but the dynamic is there a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland/pseuds/Yellow_Bird_On_Richland
Summary: If Britta could just obey a few, simple apartment rules--like, say, not inviting more than eight people over--Annie's life would be way less complicated, way less messy.Even though she's kinda learned to survive chaos thanks to Greendale, that doesn't mean she likes it.
Relationships: Annie Edison/Britta Perry
Comments: 15
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voltemand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltemand/gifts).



> This is a sort of double-response: one, to a Tumblr ask of a kiss prompt with a focus on power, and two, to a request for a fluffy, smutty Brittannie fic with elements of jealousy (expect more outright fluff/smut in the next chapter).

Annie had started off peeved.

Now she's just downright fucking pissed.

Maybe a shade jealous, too. At how easily Britta can flout rules and regulations without her gut twisting itself in knots, at how she wears the terms "troublemaker" and "rebel" with pride rather than debilitating shame.

Be that as it may, though, she can't abide by this insubordination.

"We have _rules_ for a _reason,_ Britta," Annie spits at her chaotic, incorrigible dumbass of a roommate. Or coucher, to be more accurate.

"I'm not breaking any apartment rules, Annie." Britta flashes a sterling imitation of her own doe eyes back as part of her response. "I'm just helping Abed decorate the set for his next film."

"It's going to capture the heart of a real party, the sensation that there's no tomorrow," Abed adds proudly as he hangs up some streamers.

Annie's about to snap at him for participating in this hoax, but remembers to check her irritation. It's not Abed's fault this nonsense is coming to pass, after all, and he just sees a film opportunity rather than Britta's duplicity, so instead, she politely asks him, "Could you please hand me the script?"

She scans it quickly, snorts, and almost throws it down in disgust. "A rager with no rules and total fun. Really subtle, Britta. Bravo."

Britta keeps playing the role of the naive, innocent, pure-of-heart blonde, and Annie wants to slap the mask off her face when she comments, "I'm only a coucher, remember? I could never green-light something this big."

"We both know what you're doing," Annie replies through gritted teeth.

"We do? What _am_ I doing, besides being Abed's production assistant?" Britta wonders, all false modesty and fake ignorance. "Feel free to enlighten me, Annie."

The additional insult digs into her skin like a splinter. Annie's sick of being overrun, of people still treating her with kid gloves when, aside from Frankie and Elroy, sometimes, she's easily the most grown-up one out of the group. Jeff can maybe try to win that second or third-place distinction back from her if he stops going to the liquor store at least twice a week, but that seems unlikely. She organized the Save Greendale Committee. She's gunning for an internship with the FBI. She wears pantsuits now, dammit, and she is _not_ taking this insurrection lying down.

Annie's tempted to throw a fit for a second, but...no. No, better to handle this situation like a true adult. With passive aggressiveness.

Emphasis on the aggression.

So she plays like everything is cool, comments, in an even a tone as possible, "My mistake, that's definitely what you're doing. Carry on. I think I'm gonna turn in for an early night."

She offers Abed a hug when he comes down off the ladder, then does the same for Britta, still acting as if everything's hunky-dory before she strikes with a python's fatal speed.

"By the time this is over," Annie enunciates every word, every syllable, as cleanly and clearly as possible in a deadly whisper, angling her head a bit so her lips are nearly touching Britta's ear, "you'll _beg_ for my forgiveness."

Her pulse spikes when Britta gasps at her dire prophecy and rockets up another flight of stairs when she pulls back to see Britta's eyes widen in pure, unfiltered terror and fear. Annie wills herself to take one breath, one step, at a time as she walks to her room.

 _"That's it,"_ she thinks to herself. _"You're fine."_

Until she decides to stare Britta down as she slowly closes her bedroom door, eventually shutting it with a snap.

She slides down the back of it to the floor, bites her lip, and balls her hands into fists so she can't touch herself, even as her mind's eye pictures Britta, beautiful, exasperating, irrepressible Britta, on her knees, hands clasped in front of her, pleading for clemency and mercy, claiming that Annie's shown her the error of her ways.

Annie groans, gets up, and flops onto her bed. " _This is all sort of Frankie's fault,"_ she laments internally.

Annie knows, obviously, that her wonderful mentor hadn't _planned_ to make her realize that her need for a certain level of control over day-to-day events could also manifest itself into one hell of a sexual kink.

It just sort of happened. As things inevitably do at Greendale.

It had started with Frankie recommending that she "find a way to let go of control, but in a setting where you're comfortable and safe. Like I do with spin classes."

Annie had protested at that—she'd gotten worlds better at relaxing since her early college days—but between working to save the school and Abed growing a bit more subdued and solemn following Troy's departure, she admitted, _"Maybe I could stand to loosen up more. Again."_ And if anyone knew the dangers of burning out as a type-A overachiever with a passionate drive to help people, it was Frankie.

So Annie got back into playing gratuitously violent video games a bit more, plotted out time for reading for pleasure, and those strategies seemed to work, at least a little, but she still felt a bit too wound up for her liking. So, one Saturday afternoon, on a lark, she Googled, "how to safely lose control of yourself as an adult."

Because that's what she does, she runs over roadblocks with research. Annie scrolled past the usual, predictable bits of advice—meditate, exercise or play sports, read, listen to calming music, get one of those adult coloring books, and so on—and found an...intriguing audio-visual response.

In the form of a drop-dead gorgeous redhead decked out in a dark purple bustier.

Annie firmly believes that all women have the capacity to be endlessly beautiful, but she's an absolute sucker for redheads. Redheads in lingerie, doubly so. Even if she's only seen them online because she's mostly been gay in theory and in the privacy of her bedroom and her mind since coming out. Aside from that one time she and Rachel kissed.

Annie's always been a fast learner, but she'd shocked herself with how quickly she realized that, at least sexually, she could maybe quiet her brain and tame her need for control by exercising it over others, if her response to certain videos was any indication.

She quickly set parameters for her research, mostly when Abed was out of the apartment. She sussed out that what she liked watching, specifically, was one woman not only taking control of another—though such a domineering act held a lot of appeal on its own—but also convincing her partner that it was in her best interest to follow orders. That depper, intimate, almost sinister action went beyond merely bending someone's will. It was the idea of re-molding and reshaping a person's will that turned Annie on the most.

**

And that's how she's ended up here, wondering why exactly she decided offering Britta a homoerotic threat that would end with her "begging for forgiveness" was a good idea.

 _"She deserved the threat,"_ she rationalizes. _"And I wanted to show her I wasn't playing around, that there are consequences to rule-breaking."_

She replays the scene again, watching the fear penetrate Britta's gaze.

"So, mission accomplished," Annie quickly declares, trying to drown out the rush of desire in her stomach, trying not to picture just how easily she could've delivered a sharp bite to the side of Britta's neck if she'd been so inclined.

 _"Stop it!"_ she chides her hornier self. _"We're just friends!"_

 _"Except even friends can view each other as sexual prospects,"_ that more deviant voice observes smugly, and now she's flashing back to that day freshman year, when Jeff said those words, or something close to them.

Annie had thought, at that point, that she'd totally squashed out her penchant for having impure thoughts about women, that between crushing on Troy and dating Vaughn, she'd proven to herself that she was straight.

It took all of one hypothetical scenario and a curious head tilt from Britta to give her a gentle push into starting to dismantle that misguided belief.

Fast forward to now, and she's wondering what might happen if she dismantles Britta's defenses further.

Annie wants to resist that petty, mean-spirited, destructive urge...but she so rarely indulges herself. And Britta _did_ knowingly break the apartment rule about large gatherings.

So she retrieves one of the books she'd checked out from the library for light reading. The delightfully moronic antics of one Bertram Wooster should be a nice distraction from the insanity in the apartment, and having to hold the book will give her hands something to do. Annie lets a hint of a smirk play over her face as she decides, _"Yeah, I'll let this 'party like there's no tomorrow' thing play out for a couple days."_

_**_

"Annie."

"Britta."

There's an impressive layer of frost in the blonde's voice, considering she's undoubtedly beyond exhausted, and it gives Annie all the more encouragement to snark at her. "How's your movie coming?"

"It's amazing, Abed's a genius," she enthuses. "He's actually having a hard time deciding what to cut, so it's going to be in two volumes, and it's hard to sleep, but it's worth sacrificing for art, you know?"

Annie can hear the way she's trying to convince herself, can see the defeat in Britta's eyes, so she mentally calls an end to this particular round of psychological torture. She filters about 80% of the condescension out of her voice as she asks, "Would you like my help?"

A world-weary Britta sinks into the chair, finally giving up her act. _"Yes."_

"And what have we learned from this little misadventure?" Annie prompts her.

"Don't question rules. Rules are good. I'm bad. All hail Annie."

The words "I'm bad, all hail Annie" unfurl inside her and stitch themselves against her rib cage, so she can't be held responsible when she gently pats Britta on the shoulder and comments brightly, "There's a good girl. Let's get you a drink, shall we?"

Britta perks up at her praise and nods, but still looks a tiny bit broken, and Annie glides over to the bar with a demon's easy power and a model's effortless grace. She swats away the little voice in her ear that warns, _"You shouldn't be enjoying this so much."_

" _Adderall addiction notwithstanding,"_ she answers herself, _"I've always been good. Don't I deserve to take a swing at being bad?"_

Britta reaches for her Hefeweizen and Annie pulls it away slightly. "Not so fast," she warns, a lilt of a tease in her voice. "You can have your beer if you swear fealty to me later. As, um, keeper of the apartment rules," she adds quickly since she can feel Jeff and Frankie staring like she's grown a third arm.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want, Annie," Britta responds impatiently. Annie passes her beer over to her, murmurs, "Good girl," again as Britta drinks deeply from her glass, and she swears she can feel goosebumps ripple to life on her forearms.

**

"Party in my bathtub, party on my rooftop, I'll stop when you stop. Party like twins do: synchronicity, party with the old-school cast of _Felicity_ ," Abed's humming along to a song that, aptly, seems to be about a party for his party movie when Annie gently interrupts him. "Cut!" he calls to everyone. "Yes?" he asks.

"Britta has something to say."

"My script is misleading, Abed," Britta confesses. "It's impossible to party like there's no tomorrow."

Annie sees his face fall and she sometimes wishes Abed could be a tiny bit less himself so he didn't get hurt quite so badly when others scheme around him. He comments softly, "But it's based on a true—"

"It's based on my true desire to have a party. Parties are just booze, low lights, and loud music, so people can feel more, see less, and not have to listen to each other. Or themselves."

"That's stupid. Parties are stupid. And this whole movie, then, is stupid," Abed realizes aloud just before he barks out, "Clear out, everyone, we're done here. That's a wrap!"

He tells Annie, "I'm going out," and brushes past Britta without acknowledging her.

"What's gonna happen to me?" Britta asks her uncertainly.

"You'll be punished in ways you won't understand for longer than you think is rational or possible," Annie answers with an expert's ease. "But then one day, you'll do something he likes and he'll stop." She shrugs. "You either adapt or lose your mind."

Britta nods slowly. "I think I'll go for the first option."

"A wise choice. Oh, and a tip: you'll know Abed is at least contemplating forgiving you when he next offers you popcorn during a movie night," Annie responds.

"I'll file that away for future Britta to consider," she comments as she, to Annie's great surprise, retrieves a tumbler and sets about fixing herself an Old Fashioned.

"Didn't you have enough booze during the last however many days?" Annie scoffs.

"One, I didn't drink much. Two, I stayed up too long and now I'm at the point where I might as well stay awake til around when I normally go to bed to kind of fix my sleep schedule. Three, this is a victory drink since I'll finally be able to fuckin sleep." She softens her tone a little as she raises her glass toward Annie. "Here's lookin at you, Edison. Thanks for helping me out."

"You're welcome." Her impulse control is going a little off the rails lately. She doesn't care all that much and points at Britta's drink. "Fix me one?"

Annie likes watching Britta's eyes widen in surprise, likes when she gets to remind everyone—but especially her—that she's not a naive little kid anymore. Annie's on the verge of raising her glass to her lips when she decides a toast is in order. She tilts her head toward Britta and lifts her glass. "Girls?" she suggests.

Britta meets it with a _clink._ "Girls."

They drink in an easy, beautifully quiet silence, until Britta drains the last bit of her cocktail and surveys the apartment. "I think we kept it pretty neat, all things considered, but I'm gonna clean it up a bit before I go to sleep."

"I'll help."

"You didn't make any of the mess."

Annie rolls her eyes. "Have you met me? I'd rather know we're maintaining at least some semblance of organization." She gestures at a toy lightsaber by the couch and picks it up. "Case in point, Star Wars stuff is almost never outside Abed's room." She flicks the saber out—it's come in handy as a prop in many a Dreamatorium adventure, and she's considering how often she's used it as a sword when she remembers what she'd mentioned to Britta at the bar. "Hey."

"Hmm?" Britta murmurs as she's stuffing Solo cups into a garbage bag.

"You still gotta swear fealty to me."

She sort of can't believe she just said that without a trace of irony, and she gets the sense that Britta can't, either, based on her corresponding groan. "Seriously, Annie? You really expect me to do that?"

"You're really challenging me when I saved your skin, Britta? I would have _thought_ you'd show more gratitude than that," Annie answers sharply, then comments innocently, in a reprisal of Britta's playing dumb earlier in the week, "Unless you'd rather I tell Abed his movie is back on?"

"No, no, no," Britta responds quickly, and Annie's got a problem, because there's no way it's healthy to enjoy wielding control with such precise cruelty. It's probably not healthy for her to mentally note that even an exhausted, semi mentally distraught Britta possesses some strangely satisfying, almost shattered type of beauty. "I...what do I need to do, exactly? Swear to the apartment rules?"

"Promise that you'll obey the rules, as set out by me," Annie decides before reality rips at the seams. It's usually the most broken when they're all together at Greendale, especially during paintball, but it's all cracked mirror edges and misfit puzzle pieces at apartment 303 right now, because Annie hears herself answer, "And if we're going to do this properly, you really should be on your knees. So I can..." she mimes tapping Britta on each shoulder with Abed's lightsaber turned imaginary sword.

"You've been living with Abed for too long," Britta sighs, but she follows the instructions anyway, and this is seriously, _seriously_ a problem for Annie.

She's always known Britta's attractive. Hell, she tried to kiss her at that infamous Britta/Paige Valentine's Day Dance and wanted to be "sexy and cool" like her when she kissed Jeff on the night of the Transfer Dance. If Annie tries, she can remove her own feelings from the equation: between Jeff, Troy, and Subway slash Honda Rick wanting Britta, her good looks can be spun away as an objective truth.

The more subjective truth is that studying a subservient Britta is threatening to fry her brain.

She manages to ask, "Do you, Britta Perry, promise to obey the rules of apartment 303, as set out by me, Annie Edison?"

It must be the mixed drink talking, and maybe Britta's sleep deprivation affects her vocal cords, but Annie swears she hears some kind of longing when she answers, with a clear gaze and a firm nod, "Absolutely, I do."

"Thank you for your support," Annie responds, as regally as possible, and she's suddenly helping Britta to her feet, murmuring, "Up you get, now," almost directly into her ear in a slant rhyme of how she delivered her threat earlier that week.

She so rarely has a height advantage over anyone that she, naturally, fixes Britta with an intense stare to capture the incident in her mind. To preserve the feeling of control.

Britta's still clutching her arm as she rises up slowly—she's probably just tired, Annie thinks—but then she tilts her head up the tiniest bit.

It's a question in a language Annie couldn't speak until recently, but now she's fluent in it.

It's the first time she's ever been on the taller end of a kiss dip, and she relishes in the gasp that escapes Britta's lungs--the aural signifier of her power--as she gently presses two fingers to her jawline to bring their faces closer together.

She seals Britta's loyalty with a trembling, clumsy, bourbon-laced kiss because she'd have to be the world's dumbest lesbian to waste this opportunity.

Still, Annie's not sure exactly how the whole kissing women thing works beyond the fact that she wants to do it, so she stammers, "I—I don't know what came over me, or why I did that, even. Just forget it, Britta, I'm sorry—"

Britta whispers, "Don't be," against her lips and their kisses multiply in a desperate, hungry flurry, and Annie thinks to herself, _"There's no better power than getting a gorgeous woman to kiss you."_


	2. Chapter 2

Annie opens her dazed eyes and asks Britta quietly, "Are you okay with this? With whatever is happening?"

"I wouldn't have kissed you back if I had reservations about it, Annie," Britta answers a tad breathlessly. "I know you tend to proceed with caution, but unless I'm very, very much mistaken, I'd say you enjoyed those kisses, correct?"

"Correct," Annie confirms, hoping she'll get the chance for one or two or eight more.

"Well, I did, too, so I'm down to keep kissing if you are," Britta concludes, with a slight blush coloring her cheeks.

It's simple logic, probably too simple, and there are a bunch of questions and half-baked anxieties dashing through her head, but Annie's acutely aware that she has a chance to continue kissing an admittedly beautiful woman with lush lips, so she focuses on that certainty. And the fact that maybe witchcraft is involved, because they suddenly end up in her bedroom and she has no idea how they arrived there so quickly.

Britta sits down on the edge of the bed and regards Annie, who's still standing, with a mischievous yet gentle look.

"What is it?" Annie asks.

Britta takes both of her hands—Annie's glad to see she's stopped picking at her cuticles quite so much—and replies with a question of her own. "You've never had a makeout sesh with a woman before, have you?"

She shakes her head dumbly, wondering wildly if she's somehow going to get Punk'd. It wouldn't be a total shock, not with how strange the past week or so has been.

"Do you want to?"

She doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"C'mere, then." Britta pulls her onto her lap and Annie's mind works long enough for her to register, _"Holy shit, having my boobs press up against a woman's chest is kind of the best thing ever."_ As is the fact that Britta smells incredible. Her body wash isn't super strong, but Annie gets a faint whiff of coconut and vanilla and uses the excuse of pressing a kiss to her forehead to inhale the scent of her fair-trade tea tree and lavender shampoo, too, before they resume kissing in earnest.

She's always been a little repulsed by the idea of _really_ making out with someone, of getting into "heavy petting," as her mom called it when she was in high school. It always seemed gross, all stringy saliva and teeth clacking together uncomfortably, so she learned how to give aggressive close-mouthed kisses, how to kiss with her teeth, how to talk dirty, to compensate.

She realizes, now, that it was the idea of making out with a guy—of doing any of those activities with a guy, really—that turned her off, because she and Britta have progressed from French kissing to aggressively shoving their tongues down each other's throats in pretty short order and she really doesn't want any of it to stop, doesn't want Britta's hands to move away from the small of her back or her shoulder blades or the back of her neck.

She can't say what feels better right now, losing control or possessing it, leading Britta or being guided. They establish an easy back and forth in no time at all, getting horizontal on her bed without even a hint of a spoken discussion about the decision, and she feels languidly, almost deliriously content when they take a little bit of a break from making out.

The words drip from Annie's swollen mouth with a drunken carelessness. "Thank God I figured out I'm a lesbian."

Next to her, she feels Britta's body jerk and spasm with silent laughter before she sighs happily and comments, "Considering just how great of a kisser you are, I'm thankful you had that realization, too."

Annie can feel her face flush pink at that, and she'd usually be embarrassed, but she doesn't care.

"Good to know I can meet your standards, Britta," she laughs. "Especially since I'd only kissed Rachel before now, and it was just more of a quick peck than anything."

"You don't just meet my standards, you surpass them," Britta assures her, then frowns for a second. "By the way, how did...this...happen?" she waves her hands around in their general vicinity. "I mean, I sort of know, from my end, at least," she adds as she blows out a breath. "You were just exuding this power and it kinda sucked me in."

"That's a good starting point for an explanation," Annie hedges, wondering how exactly to say this, or if she even should.

" _Britta might psychoanalyze me, but she deserves the truth. And physically bonding is certainly its own form of intimacy, so she might be less inclined to make fun of me for admitting this,"_ she thinks.

Britta doesn't say anything, but tilts her head, clearly expecting more, based on Annie's introductory tone, so she adds, quietly, "I, um, kinda learned recently that I have a little bit of a control kink? And threatening you sort of jump-started it."

Britta nods wisely. "It's always the religiously repressed youth who end up being more open to exploring the broad spectrum of sexual activity. Being denied the apple of sin for so long just makes you want to savor every bite once you get it, huh?"

"We're really talking about this right now, aren't we," Annie answers, with a hint of resignation in her voice, but honestly, she doesn't mind it—she appreciates just how deeply Britta listens to all of them (even if her diagnoses can leave something to be desired, sometimes).

"Yes, we are," Britta replies cheerily. "There's so much to analyze here, Annie! Even going beyond your control kink, there's definitely something to your desires for older partners, too."

"I'm sorry, my what now?"

Britta gestures between them. "There's a fair-size age gap between us."

Annie scoffs. "You're using too small of a sample size, seeing as I've only kissed you and Rachel in terms of women, and besides, she's only a couple of years older than me. I say this argument is bogus, Perry."

Britta quirks up an eyebrow at that. "Is it, Edison? Even if we discount your attractions to Jeff and Rich as symptoms of compulsory heterosexuality, which I'm more than happy to do, that still leaves…" Britta smirks as she plays her ace. "Your little crush on Frankie."

Shit.

Annie thought she'd kept that tucked away from everyone.

It had been a tiny, miniscule crush. Not even a full crush; a "cru," or an "ush," maybe. And it was more an in-depth appreciation for having another assiduous, type-A overachiever join the group than anything else.

That's what she always tells herself.

"Sorry for having professional admiration for one of the few individuals at Greendale who, like me, takes pride in her work," Annie snaps, painfully aware that her voice jumps up half an octave as she tries to defend herself, and Britta jumps on that.

"Yeah, right." Her smirk grows wider. "You give her all those touches out of professional admiration?"

Annie groans; despite the fact that they've spent the better part of twelve minutes kissing each other, Britta's still way too good at needling her when the mood or inspiration strikes. "Shut up, Britta."

"All the compliments on Frankie's committee memos are strictly business?"

"Shut up or I'll...I'll…"

Britta laughs and mockingly interrupts, "Or what, you're gonna _make me_?"

Annie grinds her teeth and glares at the infuriatingly smug blonde, willing herself to think up a strong comeback, but her body delivers it instead, with her arm shooting forward, and suddenly she's got one hand clasped around her neck, over her throat.

They both observe the sight in awe, transfixed, when Britta breathes out, " _Fuck_ , Annie. That's not a little control kink. That's a _big_ control kink."

"I...I didn't mean to do that," she gasps, horrified at her own impulse for violence, but somehow still unable to actually pull her hand back. "I'm so sorry, really, Britta—"

To her shock, Britta brings up a hand and gently puts a finger to her lips.

"The next step in your journey to being a badass woman is to stop apologizing so much. If you'd gone totally Homer Simpson on me, I'd be fucking pissed, but you didn't." She glances down again, tells Annie, "This—the anticipation—is super sensual."

"So, you're not mad? And are you saying you've done this before? That you...you like being choked?" Annie asks numbly, stumbling through her words.

Britta looks like she's replaying the questions in her head, then responds, "Nope, I'm not mad. Yes, I've done this before. And I can go either way. Depends on who I'm with and how I'm feeling." She glances up at the ceiling for a second, like she's figuring out what else to say, then adds, "Choking someone, or being choked during sex or foreplay—it's not something that's like a must-do for me, but every once in a while, I really like it."

Annie feels her jaw drop at that last admission and Britta grins at her. "You're not the only one in this bed with some naughty kinks, babe. Oh, and one other thing." She gently moves Annie's hand down a little. "There. You don't wanna go right for the throat, more a tiny bit below it. But for what I'm guessing is your first time doing that, you were pretty much dead-on with your aim."

That commentary finally gets her to retract her arm, and Annie collapses into laughter because she's not only made out with Britta today, but they're now having a casual conversation about the logistics of _sexually choking someone_. Her life is an absurdist comedy.

Once she's recovered from her slight laughing fit, she asks, "How'd you learn you were into this?"

"Where you can find everything sexual: the Internet."

"Sounds about right. And thanks for not freaking out on me for doing that. For listening to me. For talking me through things, and just showing me so much kindness in this uncharted territory, really," Annie comments softly.

"What else are friends for?" Britta replies brightly. "And anyway, that's all part of the three Cs of sexy time with Britta." She ticks the items off on her fingers as she speaks. "Consent, enthusiastically shared. Communication, established early and revisited often. And comfort, consistently prioritized. If the person you're with can't or isn't willing to offer you those basic courtesies, then fuck 'em. Figuratively, I mean."

"I got that," Annie chuckles. "And those are really great tenets. I'm impressed."

"Thanks," Britta smiles, then gazes at her with a look that's somehow both sheepish and hungry. "Um, as much as I love that we just had this conversation, I kinda wanna get back to kissing you. And…"

She takes Annie's right hand and presses it against her throat, blushing furiously as she whispers, "If you wanna try this, I'd be up for it."

Annie has another of those Greendale moments where her brain screams, _"What the hell is going on with your life?"_

She ignores it and stumbles her way through her own question. She's not quite brave enough to be direct, but the thought of letting Britta reciprocate turns her on something fierce.

So instead, she asks, "Would you do that to me, too? If you'd like to?"

Britta's jaw drops for a second, but she recovers to offer Annie a tender kiss and a devilish grin. "Ooh, you wanna try some breath play? Someone's feeling adventurous, isn't she?"

Annie's eyes flash with a challenge. "You've always been good at getting me to be a little wild."

"Then let's get into some more trouble right now," Britta murmurs as she brings a hand up to Annie's throat. "How about we start off with really, really light, gentle pressure? And just tell me if you wanna stop or if you're uncomfortable or anything, okay?" she tells Annie, keeping serious, almost loving eye contact as she offers the reminder. "That goes for everything, by the way," she adds. "If you want to stop or slow down at any point, just say the word. Your body, your choice."

Annie nods, then finds her manners and remembers to say, "Same goes for you, Britta. I want to make sure you're comfortable, too."

Britta shoots her a small smile. "Thanks for that, Annie. You ready to give this a shot?"

Annie nods again and her field of vision is suddenly all blue eyes the color of storm clouds over the Atlantic, blonde curls, and pink lips releasing one, two, three deep breaths into her mouth and she gasps as Britta applies a soft, nearly tender squeeze to her neck.

Britta kisses her after what feels like an eternity, and her previous conception of just what a kiss could do to her mind, her body, how it could feel, breaks apart like thin spidery cracks in an iced-over pond, like the hairline fracture in her old beater's windshield.

Annie applies a little more pressure, and Britta responds in kind, matching her force. The joint sensations of moaning into Britta's mouth and feeling her eyes roll back in her head wash over her with so much pleasure that she might just fucking drown in it.

**

She blinks her eyes open slowly, the way she does when she's a tiny bit drunk and trying to stay awake at the tail end of a party, and seeing the flush in Britta's cheeks, the glassy glaze of her lust-blown eyes, the rapid, rabbit-like rise and fall of her chest, is like pouring kerosene over the pair of them.

Annie somehow yanks her hand back, away from Britta's throat—hello, new kink, nice to meet you—and intercepts Britta's potential questions with a forceful kiss and a murmur of, "I need both hands to take your fucking clothes off, babe." She remembers Britta's emphasis on enthusiastic consent with the one or two functioning brain cells still rattling around her head, so she adds, in a breathless rush, "If that's something you want me to do?"

" _Yes. Please_ undress me, Annie," Britta begs just before pulling her in tight for another scorching kiss.

Annie's watched women help each other strip in porn before, of course, and she mostly appreciates the "money shot" sights: flashes of previously unseen lingerie—or not, depending on how risque the women in question are—and the peaks and valleys of their bodies, ridges of toned skin and curves of bronzed cleavage.

But with Britta, she stares down every part of her body. She notices the tiny cluster of freckles on her shoulders as she shrugs her way out of her flannel shirt, the pale white strip of her stomach that's exposed as her tank top rides up, that expands as the two of them tug it up and over her head. Suddenly Britta's helping her get undressed, too—Annie takes a second to marvel at just how quickly her fingers make work of her buttons—and she tosses her blouse to the floor, with absolutely no regard for where it lands. Turns out having a topless Britta Perry in her bed is a killer distraction from the mundane matters that often loom so large in her mind.

They're both pants-less about a minute later, too, and Annie feels like an idiot. Because she somehow hasn't said some pretty important words to Britta. So she does.

"You're crazy beautiful, you know," she confesses into a soft kiss; their fury's gone a touch dormant, at least for now, but she's confident it'll return. There's a sustainability to the fire between them that almost suggests they've done this before, which is nuts, since they haven't.

"And you, darlin, are dangerously, stupidly attractive yourself," Britta breathes against her neck once she's trailed a path of kisses to it. "Could you sit up for a sec?"

She does, and Britta's hands are at her back, about to unhook her bra, when she pauses. "May I? Please?"

"So polite," Annie murmurs happily before adding, "And yes, to answer your question. Would you like me to…"

Britta nods into another kiss and Annie can't help but laugh when she feels the clasps of her bra come undone in about two seconds, when she returns the favor for Britta.

"What is it?" Britta asks.

"It's just nice to not deal with any awkward fumbling for once, like with boys."

She expects Britta to laugh, to make some sort of wisecrack, but she doesn't, because she's too busy ogling her breasts. The blatant staring reminds Annie of how guys behave around her sometimes, but she doesn't mind it in this context. Not with Britta. Not when she's pretty much invited her to do that.

And then Britta slips her own bra off and it's Annie's turn to stare. She's not sure which one of them moves first, but suddenly she's straddling Britta and Britta's lips and hands are all over her, all over her tits for a bit before she runs her nails down her back, and Annie wonders for a second, _"Where's all this noise coming from?"_ when she realizes, oh, it's her. She's moaning because Britta apparently has a master's degree in turning her on.

She grinds harder into Britta, sinks down lower for another kiss—she'd tried keeping track earlier, but lost count after number twenty three or so—and Britta comments, in a throaty voice, "For someone who's never done this before, you really know your way around a woman's body."

Annie shrugs and figures she'll leave it at that, but then decides, _"If this is the only time we do this, I'm gonna make the most of it."_

So she adds, with a breathy whisper into Britta's ear, "I'm a quick study. And I've watched a decent variety of porn. Usually when the apartment's empty, since I like being able to make some noise when I touch myself."

Britta shakes her head and regards her with wonder. "Learning about how dirty you are has been the _best_ mind-fuck ever. And that's one of the main drawbacks of sharing an apartment. I miss being able to get myself off whenever I want and luxuriating in the process, you know? Now it's mostly quickies while people are gone." She winks at Annie. "But I can usually take a little more time in the shower."

"You are _so_ bad and I love it."

Britta grins up at her and repeats her line from the bar, from before this absolute insanity. "Hey, like I said earlier: I'm bad. All hail Annie."

"Fuck yes," Annie breathes out just before the two of them sink into their latest passionate kiss, before Britta latches onto her waist, pulls her down, and whispers in her ear, "You riding me is amazing, but I'm dying to get on top myself. And I really wanna take care of you."

"Sounds great to me," Annie answers, then gives a half-shriek, followed by bubbly laughs, as Britta grabs her hips and tips her over onto the bed, and she can feel Britta's grin against her shoulder as they scooch their way back up the mattress together, closer to the pillows.

" _I'd always guessed Britta would be fun in bed in the sexy, dirty connotation of the word, but she's also fun in a playful way, too,"_ Annie realizes. She's almost always viewed sex as a serious act, and she's not discounting that framework entirely, by any means, but she likes just how much she's _laughed_ in bed with Britta. How the two of them bonding like this feels meaningful, but also joyously irreverent, at times, as well.

And then she can't analyze things anymore because Britta's on top of her and who knew she had so much rhythm in her hips and they're both moaning into every kiss and on the exhale of their last one, Britta asks shyly, "Can I go down on you, Annie?"

She wants to tell her she could have phrased the request as a demand, but that's too much work, so she just nods, breathes out, "Yes, Britta. Please, please, _please_ go down on me."

Britta's responding grin is honed to the sharp, deadly point of a dagger. "I suddenly get why you have so much of a control kink. Hearing the desire in your voice...learning just how badly you want what I'm poised to give you…"

Annie straight up mewls at Britta's touch once she pulls her panties to the side and her kink might be more of a two-sided lucky coin than she'd initially thought.

Britta smirks into her stomach as she's kissing her way down her body before gazing up at her. "Controlling men is hardly a challenge at all. But establishing my power over a woman? Casting a spell on you, no less? Now _that's_ satisfying."

The tiny part of Annie's brain that hasn't been fully consumed by wanton lust and affection says it's wrong to try to memorize the timbre of Britta's voice and her words as masturbation material for a rainy day, but what's she supposed to do, _not_ appreciate her partner's skillful manipulation of the English language?

But then Britta's sucking on her clit and it's all Annie can do to gasp her name out like a curse, or a prayer, or an incantation. She can't guess exactly which, because sex with her is part blue velvet heaven, part beautiful sin, and part black cat black magic.

And because Britta never breaks eye contact with her for more than ten seconds, she's so, so, _so_ totally fucked for their next study session because she'll be thinking of _this_ every time their eyes meet. Of the sounds she didn't know she could make as Britta, gorgeous, determined, passionate Britta, wrests control away from her. Of how her vocabulary shrinks to breathy moans of "oh my God" and "fuck me" and "yes, Britta, yes, yes, _yes"_ while she's being eaten out through her first orgasm and fingered through the second. Of how Britta tenderly whispers words of dirty encouragement the whole time her mouth is free, making Annie feel like she's at the center of her universe.

Annie's always thought the whole "smoking after getting laid" thing in movies was a dated reference from a bygone era, but maybe they're onto something, because she wants to indulge in more bad behavior. But her legs are jello and she's too drained to even contemplate getting out of bed, wrapping a towel around herself, and retrieving a beer from the fridge.

So she tugs Britta close, into a messy, clumsy kiss, stammers, "You...oh my God. That…those orgasms. Wow. I..."

Words continue to elude her, and Britta notes, with no small hint of smugness, "You've done your job well when your girl's legs are shaking and she can barely talk afterwards."

Annie manages to get out, "Thank you," before sinking back into the mattress.

"Hey, my pleasure," Britta answers proudly. "And you know what they say about oral sex, right?"

Annie shakes her head.

Britta grins. "Blowjobs are work, but eating out is a privilege."

Annie cracks up at that, mutters affectionately, "You're sucha fuckin nerd," and realizes that she's possibly found her new favorite vice right here, in the form of one Britta Perry.

And she's powerless to resist her.

That doesn't seem like much of a problem at all, though.

**

"You're sure you're not just doing this due to some gross patriarchally-reinforced need to reciprocate me eating you out?" Britta asks for the second time in between kisses. "I don't want you to feel like you owe me."

Annie groans; Britta's protective feminism decided to resurface at the worst time, while Annie's trying to seduce her. Or seduce her more, she supposes. "Britta, I swear, I want this. I want you. And fuck the patriarchy, they've got nothing to do with us right now."

"Okay, okay, I just wanna be sure you're one hundred percent doing this because you want to," Britta insists.

" _Not that I don't appreciate Britta making sure that I'm totally on board with actively participating in sex,"_ Annie admits to herself. _"But I think I've answered her question clearly."_

Filthy inspiration pops into her head. _"Maybe you can tell her and show her at the same time."_

She closes her eyes for a second, opens them, adds an extra sensual layer to her voice, and says, with a touch of heat, "You know what I want, Britta? I want you to shut up and listen to me."

She sees Britta's eyes go wide as saucers, hears her emit a tiny squeak of fear, and she can't even try to stop a sinful smirk from making its way to her lips.

Back in those painfully awkward sex ed classes Annie had suffered through in high school, the teachers had droned on about STDs being "sex monsters." She hadn't thought people could be sex monsters, hadn't ever dreamed she'd turn into one herself, but here she is.

" _Better to be a sex monster than a woefully repressed lesbian still trying to pretend she's straight,"_ she figures.

Especially since her partner in crime seems to appreciate it when her inner monster comes out to play, when she heel-turns into being a villain for a bit.

So she goes on, "And I also want you to know that after I threatened you and went back to my room, I just barely resisted touching myself. And then when I had you on your knees in the living room…" Annie sinks her teeth into her lower lip, loves how she can see Britta's eyes misting over with lust. "I don't know how I even managed to think straight. Although that's a misnomer," she adds. "What with being gay and all."

The joke kind of ruins the devilishly sexy vibe she's cultivating, but hearing Britta cackle is worth it. And she brings that femme fatale energy back, anyway, when she gently chokes her, reveling in how she feels the muscles in her throat work as she swallows thickly.

"Now, in case those answers weren't clear enough, let me be even more honest," Annie whispers to her. "I cannot fucking wait to kiss my way down your body and eat you out." She pauses for a second, then follows Britta's lead. "Your turn, Britta. Tell me what you want."

"I want you to take me. _Now_ ," she growls.

Annie doesn't need the encouragement, doesn't need to be told twice as she lunges at Britta with a ferocity that reminds her of paintball wars, of taking no prisoners to win debates, of punching Jeff in the face. She doesn't even have to bother telling her brain to banish that thought to the ether because Britta's consuming damn near all her headspace, and Annie fills in the gaps by memorizing the sound of her moans when she kisses her way down to her breasts and grinds against her while keeping her nails nearly embedded in her shoulders.

"Lower," Britta hisses. "I need your mouth on me."

Annie smirks against her navel and murmurs, "That's my good girl, explaining exactly what you need," before she trails kisses down to either hip.

"Oh my God, the way you say that fucking _wrecks_ me," Britta groans as she throws her head back.

"What's that, babe?"

Britta gives an exasperated huff. "You know what."

"Oh, me calling you _my good girl_?" Annie wonders aloud in a drawl. "Does that do something to you, Britts?"

" _How_ are you the same woman who couldn't even say the word penis when we first got to college?" she mumbles back in disbelief.

Annie doesn't bother to dignify the question with a response, just shoots Britta a wicked grin as she tugs her panties off, and she suddenly remembers she's never done this before. Although she'd never had a woman eat her out before this afternoon, either, and that turned out amazing, but still.

Britta must sense her tensing up, must feel her confidence fade a little, because she strokes Annie's hair back and tells her softly, "Just start slow, with long licks. Or tease me with your fingers again."

"Like this?" Annie murmurs, trailing two fingers up and down her slit.

"Mmhmm," Britta manages to nod, then breathes out, "Please, Annie. I need you and I'm so fucking horny and—"

Annie slides two fingers inside her to cut her off and succeeds, coaxing a euphoric cry of "Fuck, yes" out of her.

Annie gasps as she curls her fingers back inside Britta. "Holy shit, you're so hot. So wet."

"All because of you. All for you, Annie."

After about a minute, Annie slowly slides her fingers back out, studies the sticky wetness on them, in between them.

Britta gasps, "I didn't want you to stop."

"I don't think you'll mind. Not when I'm about to do this," she comments as sensually as possible before sliding both fingers into her mouth, sucking deeply and making doe eyes at Britta all the while.

"Holy _fuck_ ," Britta whimpers, her voice broken. "Annie. Oh my God. You're…"

"You're delicious," Annie whispers her interruption, gazing up at Britta before she positions herself between her thighs to give her a long lick, just like she'd asked for.

And her offhand comment from earlier that eating out is a privilege? Yeah, Annie's in total agreement on that.

Britta gives her suggestions on what to do in the best ways possible, in moans and feverish hisses of "more" and "faster" and "right there, _right fucking there_ ," in the decadent twists and urgent thrusts of her hips, in the way she keeps her hands pressed to the back of Annie's head when she's close.

Making Britta lose control, and seeing and feeling it play out in real time—hey eyes shut, thighs shaking, head snapping back—is kind of the hottest experience Annie's ever enjoyed.

She's surprised, afterwards, when Britta pulls her close, whispers, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," into breathless kisses like they're actual lovers.

_"I mean, technically, we are,"_ she supposes. _"Just not the kind that are really, truly together."_

So she answers softly, "You're welcome, Britta. But where's all this affection coming from?"

Britta's cheeks flush like she suddenly realizes she's being too vulnerable. "It's just...it's been a while since it felt like someone cared about pleasing me as much as you did."

Annie smiles into their next quick kiss and quips, "This bombshell once told me you should prioritize your partner's comfort in bed. So based on your reaction, I'm thinking I did a good job with that?"

She shakes her head. "More like an _amazing_ job."

"Awesome. Considering this was a pretty big jump from largely being gay in theory."

"Gay in theory," Britta chokes out between laughs. "So now you're, what, gay in practice?"

"Ooh, that sounds like a great ABC comedy about a gay lawyer," Annie observes.

Britta rolls her eyes, replies sarcastically, "Okay, Abed," then claps her hand to her mouth. "We should probably—"

"Yeah," Annie agrees, though she kind of doesn't want to leave this little bubble. Until her stomach growls. She checks her phone. "It's going on ten, he'll probably be home soon. Also, I'm starving. Do you wanna get anything to eat, like a snack or something?"

Britta smirks at her and Annie swats her playfully on the arm before she can make the joke that's so clearly on her lips. "I didn't mean like that."

"Maybe popcorn?" Britta suggests as she tugs her tank top back on. "With a rerun of The Office?"

Annie retrieves a clean set of pajamas from her dresser. "Sure."

**

When Abed comes back, he looks at the two of them relaxing on the couch and watching TV with such great confusion that Annie wonders if he can actually read minds, or if he has some other crazy sci-fi method of knowing that she and Britta slept together. She asks carefully, since she's also not sure how upset he still is, "What's up, Abed?"

"I'm very surprised you two seemingly made up so fast after your behavior over the last week or so," he comments. "Did I miss out on some reconciliation, a heart-to-heart talk, or other common bonding rituals?"

Annie chokes on her popcorn at that unexpected question, and it takes her a good minute or so to recover. As she's gulping water down, she notices Abed's still looking at them expectantly, so Britta steps in to answer. "You could say that. We worked out some issues."

"Nice. Did your scenes pass the Bechdel test?"

"What's that?" Annie asks after one final rattling cough, but Britta answers, "Yeah!" and snaps her fingers excitedly.

"It's—it's—" she points at Abed. "The thing, with the comic book author, about women, about how men dominate all their conversations in different forms of media, right?"

"That's a decent summary, if a touch imprecise," he observes, then fills in the gaps. "Alison Bechdel, author of the graphic novel Fun Home and the comic strip Dykes to Watch Out For, once wrote a strip about how much women were represented—or not represented, sadly—in media. One character lays out her requirements for selecting movies to watch: that they feature two women who have a substantive conversation about something other than a man. The end of the comic strip reveals that the test eliminated nearly every film at the matinee," he explains, then continues, "The Bechdel test remains in use today, mostly in films and tv shows, as a rudimentary benchmark for studying gender equality in media representation."

"Then, like Britta said, we definitely passed it," Annie notes.

Abed grins. "Cool. Cool cool cool. That's a nice touch of progressiveness. It seems like you two get pitted against each other a lot, more than what's necessary." He walks over to his fort/room and grabs a towel. "I feel kinda grimy from having my party directing clothes on, still, so I'm gonna take a quick shower before bed."

"Okay," they chorus.

Annie and Britta stay frozen on the couch until they hear the shower start, then collapse against each other in a fit of giggles.

"I can't believe that conversation just happened." Britta wipes a stray tear of mirth from her eye. "Bonding rituals…" she shakes her head.

"Thanks for bailing me out," Annie confides. "Seeing as I was very indisposed by Abed's question." She yawns suddenly and stretches; the day's wild events overtake her body all at once. "I think I'm just gonna go to bed now. But, um." She pauses, hoping that Britta, with her wealth of sexual experience, has some insight into how friends slash roommates bid each other goodnight after randomly having mind-blowing sex.

Britta pulls her in close for a gentle kiss and murmurs, "Thanks for everything today, Annie. And I promise," she laughs again, "I'll do my best to follow the apartment rules."

"And I promise I'll be a little more relaxed about them," Annie responds.

That strikes her as a really good ending to the day, as she kisses Britta back. But there's a fragility in their last kiss that suggests their connection isn't just physical. So she comments quietly, "I know there's a lot of light that comes in through the living room windows...would you want to crash in my bed tonight since you could probably use the extra sleep after being up because of all the party scenes?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," Britta assures her. "I'm definitely gonna sleep hard tonight, and I flail around a little, so I wouldn't wanna bump you. But thanks for asking."

"Sure," Annie nods, trying to pinpoint why exactly she feels disappointed as she walks toward her room.

Britta calls softly to her, "Is that, like, an open-ended offer, though? Or just for tonight?"

"It...it can be open-ended," Annie responds, willing herself to not grin like a total doofus.

"Okay," Britta smiles. "Cool."

They both reflexively add on, "Cool cool cool," and chuckle.

"And Annie...girls?" Britta asks, in what feels like a code.

She beams, nods, and answers, "Girls," then ducks into her room before she can be any more of a sap.

Annie texts Frankie just before she goes to bed to tell her the whole "losing control while being in control" thing worked better than she'd hoped. Her mind isn't totally clear, no, but she's mostly got visions of Britta clouding it now, and she doesn't mind that particular intrusion.


End file.
